I’d checked several times, Wednesday, in the mirror. Surely there was a railroad spike in my forehead, an ice pick in my right temple?
No. There wasn’t.
What started as a headache, a sore throat, and sneezing fits lasting longer than my commitment to stop watching crap TV, has turned into a downright crippling situation.
I have been diagnosed with the R2D2.
My temperature spiked to 102.7 Wednesday night. I had dreams where I was tripping old ladies on the bus, where I was sucked up into tornadoes, where there was a small and strikingly ugly baker living in my fridge who made the most amazing little desserts – I just had to answer some questions before he would give me one…
I woke up trying to remember the questions.
Seriously. Those little cakes looked wonderful; and even now, hours after having woken up, I’m wondering about the questions. I know that I could answer them if I could just remember what they are…
I’m on Tamiflu, acetaminophen, and bed rest.
The H1N1 influenza hurts.
And this, ladies and gentlemen, is today’s post.
I’m going to resume my position, under most of the blankets we own, on the couch now.
Hugs and Kisses, Pearl
** For those wondering about the logistics here, I wrote Wednesday’s and Thursday’s posts on Tuesday so as to have time to concentrate on Thursday’s Thanksgiving prep/dinner/celebration, which was canceled Wednesday night and held, instead, at my Mom and Dad's place. Good job, Mom and Dad!